


Maybe We Should Find Out

by lookupkate



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Asexual Sherlock, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Naked Sherlock, One Shot, Porn, Sherlock is frustrating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-16
Updated: 2014-09-18
Packaged: 2018-02-13 09:37:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2145879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookupkate/pseuds/lookupkate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>London is in the middle of a heat wave and Sherlock bloody Holmes has sworn off clothing. John is losing his mind. One night after Sherlock is especially sexy without realising it John finds himself on Greg's front stoop. </p><p>Can Greg give John some relief? </p><p>Fuck yes!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yarnjunkie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yarnjunkie/gifts).



It was hot. No, fuck that, it was bloody miserable. The heat wave had started a week prior and John was quite done, thank-you-very-fucking-much. He'd put up with the heat of the desert, covered in thick clothing and carrying heavy weapons and supplies. He'd put up with sunburns that never seemed to heal. He'd put up with nights covered in sweat and lacking sleep, but this, this was something else entirely.

"Put! Some! Clothes! On!" He yelled, picking up the broken pieces of his tea mug from the floor.

Sherlock was standing with a hand nonchalantly on his hip. He really looked confused as to John's outburst. Shocked even. He was also completely nude.

"Why?" He asked, wrinkling his nose and shifting to the other foot, soft cock bobbing lazily between his pale thighs.

John took the broken cup in his hands to the kitchen and binned it.

"Because you've got no pants on and it's distracting." John replied.

"Why is it distracting? Surely you've seen naked men, John. You're really being quite puritanical about this! I'm hot and sweaty and the last thing I need is cotton working it's way between my buttocks!" Sherlock said, walking and flopping onto the couch.

John dropped the brush and pan in his hands back in the drawer and stomped to the front door. He fled the flat and walked half a block to the small convenience store he liked. His vest was already soaked with sweat and the fan oscillating in the entry brought wonderful goosebumps to his skin. He grabbed a bottled water and paid, then walked to the park. It was a long walk. It was hot. Even with his sleeves rolled up he felt the sweat beading on his lower back and forehead. Sweaty and uncomfortable, and now a bit further from home, he felt better. He'd just needed some air. Some air and some time away from his batshit flatmate.

The whole week had been a disaster. Sherlock had pranced around the flat in the nude like there was nothing wrong with it. He didn't even have the decency to look embarrassed when John found himself accidentally looking at his cock. Not once. And John had found himself doing just that more than a handful of times.

It was impossible, after all, to avoid said cock when all the seats in the house make your stupid flatmate's groin eye level. And Sherlock, for all his flouncing about and deliberate displays of boredom directed at John, didn't seem to see the doctor's discomfort.

On the third day it occurred to John that Sherlock wasn't just being pointedly stubborn on the subject of correct clothing to wear in a shared setting, but didn't see the problem at all. Sherlock, it appeared, wasn't at all aware that his body could be found physically arousing. He didn't seem to see himself as a sexual being and therfore was unaware John found him so.

This wasn't the first time John had spoken his discomfort at finding Sherlock naked. He'd done so in regular intervals since it had started. He'd moved their only fan so that Sherlock stopped shaking his bits nearly in John's face. He'd held his hand up so his gaze didn't wander. He'd tried to avert his eyes. He'd bloody tried!

Then, a few hours earlier, Sherlock had walked out of the bedroom and stood talking to John while he was having his afternoon tea. He stretched his arms above his head and a drop of sweat that had gathered around his clavicle had made its way lazily down his chest to his stomach and into the thick patch of almost ebony hair surrounding that gorgeous, flaccid, cock. John's hand had forgot it's job of holding his tea to his lips and the cup had gone crashing to the floor between his legs.

He was going to die. John Watson, formerly of the Northumberland fusiliers, Afghanistan, Kandahar and many other deadly areas, was going to die of sexual frustration. He was going to just bloody pop one day. And that would be the body Sally Donovan had promised him that first night. Death brought to you by Sherlock Holmes. Bet she'd love that.

\-----

Hours later, once the sun had finally given up its tirade and gone home for the night, John got up from the park bench, now damp where his back had rested, and walked back to the flat. He took the stairs slowly and didn't announce himself as he walked to the sofa. Sherlock was bent over rummaging through the fridge for something and John 'not gay, but definitely bi' Watson wanted nothing more than to kneel behind him and lick at the back of those tight bollocks.

The only thing to do was go have a wank. He knew it. He'd been avoiding it all bloody day. There was nothing more he could do, so he slipped up to his bedroom and closed the door as quietly as possible.

His belt was undone and his trousers and pants were down around his ankles in no time at all. He gripped his cock and bit the inside of his cheek hard, tasting copper. He let his mind roll back to that bead of sweat from earlier, let it imagine how it would taste, licked from the crease of Sherlock's thigh. He jerked himself quickly and came hard, barely able to breathe from the sheer ferocity of it. Yes. He was going to die.

\-----

It had been a long day at the clinic. Some bug was going around and people were convinced he could fix them up. That on top of the fact that the elderly were being led in on stretchers from dehydration and sun exposure and John was exhausted. The people on the tube were as unhappy and damp as he was, and he wished he had taken a cab.

When he finally made it up into the flat he froze in his tracks. Sherlock was laid out on the couch with his curls pressed to his forehead and his legs splayed open. He heard John come in and moaned his name without opening his eyes.

"John. Oh, John. It's hot and I'm bored." Sherlock whined.

John couldn't move. Sherlock whined again and thrust his hips and John got a full view of his pretty little cock nestled in dark sweaty curls with two firm bollocks and those tight arsecheeks below. His brain broke. He had thoughts that he really couldn't be held accountable for. Thoughts carefully listed below.

'If I asked nicely, very nicely, yeah, would Sherlock let me just nuzzle his cock?'

'With it soft and all I bet I could fit his cock and both bollocks comfortably in my mouth.'

'He wouldn't even have to be hard for me to put my mouth on his cock, I'd be gentle and wouldn't try to get him to respond.'

'Maybe I could ask to just rub myself off on his leg.'

And lastly;

'Maybe he'd let me come on him if he was asleep'

The last one made John wake from his almost-revelry with a jerk. He turned on his heel and left the flat without a parting word and twenty minutes later found himself standing outside DI Lestrade's flat. He knocked nervously and a few seconds later Greg opened the door.

"Jesus, John, you look like hell." The older man drawled.

"Can I come in?" John asked, surprised by the strained nature of his own voice.

"Course. Want a beer?" Greg asked, stepping back and letting John through to the sitting room.

John nodded and stood awkwardly as Greg walked to the kitchen. The flat was small, and on the ground floor, both reasons for it to be five degrees cooler than theirs, and there were three fans going that John could see. He slipped off his shoes and socks and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt.

Greg came back with two beers and walked over to the couch. John followed him and sat down with a sigh. The beer was wickedly cool and he drank almost half in one pull. Greg smiled at him and slipped his t-shirt over his head so he was in just his pajama trousers. It was distracting, but not nearly as bad as a naked Sherlock, and John relaxed.

"What did he do this time?" Greg asked with a fond smile. "And you can take your shirt off if you want, it's bloody hot."

John unbuttoned the rest of the way and pulled his shirt off until he was sitting in his vest and jeans alone. He held the beer to the side of his neck and missed the look that passed across Greg's face.

"Sherlock has sworn off clothes due to the heat." He said flatly.

"Jesus." Greg half moaned.

John looked over, honestly surprised that Greg had the same sort of reaction to the news as he had to the sight. Greg smiled rakishly and took a long sip of his beer.

"So, no pants? Nothing?" He asked.

John shook his head and drank down the rest of his beer. Greg chuckled and went to grab him another.

"You poor bastard. Sounds just like him though. He stayed with me for a month one time when he was trying to get clean. Bastard really has a love-hate relationship with clothes. Did he do the thing where he stretches and his cock just kinda bounces around?" Greg asked as he returned to the couch.

John laughed loudly and almost whimpered. "Yeah. Fuck! He makes me feel like a bloody pervert...wait, I didn't think you..."

Greg rolled his eyes. "Cause I married the witch? I'm mostly attracted to women, but there's a certain type of man that's always caught my eye."

"Let me guess, tall, dark and brilliant." John said with a grin.

Greg touched his nose and let out another laugh. "So what made you finally snap? For me it was him eating strawberry yogurt in the nude. Bloody pornographic tongue."

"He was laying on his back on the couch with his knees spread open and I honestly thought about asking if I could just rut one off on his leg." John said with a sad sigh.

Greg shifted in his seat and moaned a bit. "Fuckin' ell!"

John felt a frisson of heat flow through him at the sight of Greg's eyes flitting closed and he licked his lips. After a moment Greg looked up at him and John thought he was going to say something. He looked away quickly instead and John tried to arrange himself in his jeans without calling too much attention to it.

"You ever seen him hard?" Greg asked, staring resolutely at the silenced telly.

"No. You?" John asked, growing harder at the thought.

"Nah. Don't think it happens much. Far as I know it's never happened in response to anyone. I'd like to see it though. He's got a nice cock." Greg answered.

"Well, yeah and it's... proportionate. Christ. We're a pair of old creeps." John said, taking another long pull of his beer and glancing down to Greg's lap.

His pajama trousers were tented dramatically and it made John feel better to know he wasn't the only pervert.

"Bet it's fuckin' huge." Greg added, eyes moving back to John's face and looking back and forth between his eyes and lips.

"Yeah." John said uneasily.

"You've gotta tell me if I'm crossin a line, John." Greg said softly.

"I'll, uh, I'll let you know if you do." John replied, shifting in his seat and watching Greg's hand on the cold glass bottle.

Greg smiled at that and let his other hand rest in his lap. He let out a little sigh that went straight to John's cock. Bloody hell, how had he never noticed how sexy Greg was? Although, now that he thought about it, there were a few times he'd thought about sitting in his lap. There was the night of the fake drugs bust and the Christmas party when Greg had had a bit too much to drink and his cheeks got all rosy. Oh, and the time Greg had looked so happy to see them at Baskerville and he was tanned and fit and...

"John, you're staring." Greg whispered.

John swallowed hard and looked away.

"It wasn't a complaint." Greg added.

"So it'd...it'd be alright if I, um, if I looked a bit more?" John asked.

"I'd wager it would. Why don't you unbutton your jeans, John? They look a bit restricting." Greg purred.

And he did fucking purr. His voice was different. John had never heard him sound so commanding and caring at the same time before. He obeyed without further thought and choked a bit when Greg chuckled darkly and said 'good lad' under his breath.

"I'm gonna take my cock out now." Greg said, slipping into a thicker accent that made John nod vigorously.

Greg lifted his hips and pushed his pajama trousers and pants down to his thighs. His cock jutted out red and slick from his body and John let out a little 'ha' sound as he found his own hand on his crotch.

"Christ! Look at you. You're all flushed like a schoolgirl. Long time since you've done this with a man, yeah?" Greg asked.

John nodded slightly and squeezed his cock through his jeans, letting out a little whimper.

"And poor you has been locked up with sex on legs for the last week with no outlet. Go ahead, you can take it out too now." Greg said as he gripped his cock and gave an experimental pull.

John scrambled out of his jeans and pants and took his prick in his fist, not looking away from Greg's cock once. There was a low whining noise coming from his throat and he couldn't seem to stop it, but that was okay because then Greg was putting down his beer and gripping John's thighs with cool wet fingers and he was thrusting up into his fist.

"Slow down, lad. No need to rush, yeah?" He said soothingly.

John remembered how to breathe and started to stroke himself in time with Greg. He was so incredibly hard. The thoughts of Sherlock had long left his brain and now it was chanting 'Greg' loudly as his bollocks drew up tight. He didn't realise he was thrusting up into his fist again until Greg's hand left his thigh.

Greg chuckled at his sad face and pushed his pajama trousers and pants off his legs and tossed them to the side. "You're going to go into the bedroom, all the way down the hall, and get two condoms and some lube from the bedside table. Then you're gonna come back and sit in my lap, yeah?"

John nodded and scrambled down the hall. When he came back Greg was fisting his cock lazily and drinking his beer. John couldn't remember being more turned on in his life.

"Come on then." Greg growled, patting his thigh. "Up ya get."

John walked over and crawled into his lap, straddling him and handing over the lube and one condom. He opened the other and hissed as he rolled it on. Greg smiled and tore open the small package and covered his own cock. He poured a bit of lube in his hand and motioned for John to move closer. John slid forward until their cocks were pressed together and let out a breathy sigh.

"That's right, John. Good. Don't you worry your pretty little head. I'm gonna take care of you." Greg murmured. "Rest your head on my shoulder now."

John let his arms go slack at his sides and did as Greg said. He let his eyes slip closed as Greg put one possessive hand on his lower back and started to stroke them with his other.

"Oh! Fuck! Oh, Johnny, oh, you feel good!" Greg moaned.

John rolled his hips, which got him a little swat on the arse, and grunted at the sudden pressure of the fist on his cock. Greg stroked them surely and kissed the side of John's neck and John suddenly wanted nothing more than to be held by this man forever.

"I'm gonna speed up now, John. I know you're all keyed up, so you can come when you need to, k?" Greg said.

John whimpered and moaned louder as Greg jerked their cocks quickly in his tight hand. He wanted to say something, something like 'God that feels good' or 'Fucking hell, Greg', but he couldn't seem to form words. Greg, on the other hand, had plenty to say.

"Fuck, John! You have no idea how long I've thought about this. Your tight body covered in sweat! Your mouth forming a perfect 'o'. Course it was always you and Sherlock. You sitting on the genius' prick. Letting him fuck up into you hard. I bet you could take it hard, couldn't you, Captain? Christ." Greg said.

John was getting close and he wanted to last, he really did, but it had been so long since he'd had a strong hand on him and a deep voice in his ear and it had all happened so bloody fast and wasn't that a surprise!

"Would you let me fuck you, Johnny? Fill you up like you deserve? I'm not as big as him, but I'd fill you up!" Greg was moaning.

John nodded and whined and shook in Greg's lap and that nearly sent Greg over.

"What if we opened Sherlock up real wide, love, what if we took him together? Would you like that? My cock pressing up against yours inside him?" Greg asked, squeezing tighter. "Think he could fit both of us up that pretty little-"

"Ah, fuck!" John shouted, coming hard and shivering.

Greg sped up his thrusts and came seconds later, cursing and holding onto John. When he finally stopped shaking he carefully removed the condoms from his and John's softening pricks and rolled John so he was sat next to him on the sofa. John let his head fall back and closed his eyes.

"He isn't good enough for you, ya know." Greg said as he returned from the loo.

John sighed and rested against Greg when he sat back on the sofa. Greg wrapped his arm around his back and kissed the top of his head.

"He scares off all my other suitors." John said softly.

"You think he could scare me off?" Greg asked.

John bit his lip for a second before getting up the nerve to speak. "Maybe we should find out."

"And John," Greg added.

"Yeah?"

"I've a bit of a thing for doctors as well." Greg said with a soft smile.


	2. I Saw It All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after brings a triple murder and some personal deductions from Sherlock.

After they'd watched the end of match of the day John cleared his throat and sat up a bit straighter. "Do you mind if I kip on the sofa. Kind of don't want to see Sherlock right now." 

Greg brushed John's cheek with his thumb and smiled. "Course not. I'll get you a pillow." 

\-----

The next morning John woke to the smell of bacon. He stretched and opened his eyes slowly, realising where he was and groaning. He sat up and searched for his pants, pulling them on and looking into the kitchen. 

Lestrade was whistling and frying up some eggs, bacon cooling to the side. John didn't have time to feel uncomfortable because Greg turned and smiled at him and he suddenly felt lighter. 

Greg grabbed a piece of bacon and walked over. He was wearing only his pants and one of those aprons that said 'kiss the cook'. John went to take the bacon but Greg shook his head and held it to his lips. John blushed and took a bite. It was quite good. Greg took a bite himself and smiled warmly again.

"Morning, sunshine." He said, voice rough and low. 

John cleared his throat and the blush reached the tips of his ears. Greg leaned down and kissed his forehead softly. 

"Is that okay?" He asked after pulling away slowly. 

John nodded and Greg started whistling again and went back to cooking. John watched him move, wondering how he could possibly not have really seen this man before. He supposed he was just so caught up in the almost radioactive light of Sherlock's brilliance to see anything else. He felt foolish. 

Greg brought the food to the table and John joined him. There was tea and fried tomato along with the bacon and eggs. Greg pulled two slices of toast out and sat down. 

"Butter?" He asked. 

"Yeah, I can do that." John replied. 

Greg simply smiled and buttered the toast, then handed it to John. It had been so bloody long since someone had done anything for John that he felt his throat closing up at the small sign of affection. He stuffed a fork full of eggs in his mouth to stop himself from whatever he was going to say. 

"I've got work in a few hours. I can give you a lift home if you like." Greg said. 

John swallowed and nodded. "That'd be nice, Greg, thanks." 

"My pleasure." Greg replied, taking a bite of egg and a sip of his tea. 

They ate in silence for a long while and then Greg got up and brought the dishes to the sink. He whistled softly again as he scrubbed them and John sat thinking about what he should do next. 

"Can I take a shower?" He asked. 

"Sure, down the hall to the left." Greg said. "Fresh towels in the closet." 

John got up and took one more sip of tea before grabbing his jeans and shirt from the floor and walking to the shower. The spray was a little too warm until he turned it down. He closed his eyes and let the water run over him. A few moments later there was a soft knock at the door. 

"Yeah?" He asked, not sure if he was ready to shower with Greg. It was all happening so fast. 

Greg opened the door and stepped in. 

"I've got a clean vest and shirt here for you. I'm sure they'll fit. Feel free to use my deodorant and toothbrush." Greg said. 

"O-okay." John said, suddenly relieved that he wouldn't have to be intimate so soon. 

Greg left and John rinsed his hair. He got out and dried off, smiling at the blue check shirt. It looked exactly like something he'd own. He found the deodorant in the cabinet above the sink and brushed his teeth. The shirt fit perfectly and he felt fully human again. 

He made his way out to the sitting room and Greg squeezed his shoulder as he passed. "Looks good on you." 

"Thanks." John said softly. 

Greg took a shower and got dressed as well. They were just on their way out the door when Greg's mobile rang. 

"Lestrade." He said. "Yeah. Yeah. Sure, on my way." 

He rang off with a frown and turned to John. 

"Triple murder. Will you text Sherlock?" He asked. 

"Yeah, no problem." John said, getting out his mobile and typing in the address Greg gave him. 

"You coming?" Greg said, now fully in detective inspector mode. 

John nodded and followed him to his car, suddenly missing the relaxed and warm smile from before. 

\-----

When Sherlock walked onto the scene he saw John and Lestrade standing next to each other. Lestrade had his hands in his pockets and John was standing at parade's rest, but something was off. He brushed it aside and approached the first body. 

A half hour later he looked up to see John and Lestrade standing a bit away talking quietly. Lestrade reached up and brushed John's hair behind his ear, obviously a pathetic show of affection as John's hair wasn't long enough to stay there. He stomped over and spit out his deductions as fast as he could, not stopping to explain any more as he strode to the kerb. 

"John." He said pointedly as he hailed a cab. 

John looked up a Lestrade instead of him and Lestrade gave him a small nod. Ludicrous! Why did John need Lestrade's permission to go home? 

John slipped into he idling cab and Sherlock got in next to him, giving the cabbie their address and scowling at John. 

"What's got you all pissy?" John asked. "You're usually happy after solving a case." 

"You know what!" Sherlock hissed. "Lestrade, John, really?" 

John blushed and looked out the window. 

"I saw it all, John. I can't believe you subjected me to that!" Sherlock added petulantly. 

John looked at him in horror, thinking Sherlock must have followed him to Greg's house and spied on them. 

"Not like that! I deduced it! You're wearing his deodorant and one of his shirts. He touched your neck, for God's sake!" Sherlock said with a wave of his hand. "I keep seeing you two...you two...FORNICATING, and I can't delete it!" 

John giggled and looked back out the window. 

"It's not funny, John! You've tainted my mind palace!" Sherlock hissed. 

John just laughed harder.


	3. Take It

Three nights later John was sitting reading with a very dressed Sherlock next to him when his mobile chimed. He picked it off the table without looking and set his book down. There was a new text from Greg waiting on the screen. 

HAVE THE NIGHT OFF. FANCY A PINT? 

John smiled and chewed his bottom lip. Truth be told, he'd been worried when he hadn't heard from Greg. I mean, sure, he knew his schedule was hectic but he still worried. 

I THINK I CAN SNEAK OUT FOR A FEW HOURS.  
JW

He clutched his mobile and watched the screen, waiting less than patiently for a reply. Lucky for him it was almost immediate. 

FOX AND HOUND IN AN HOUR. 

John was actually grinning now and had to school his face a bit before he got up to shower. 

"It's seven o'clock and you're taking a shower. Why would you-" Sherlock began as John walked from the room. 

Sherlock stood and followed him to the loo, where the door had already been closed, and began talking again. It was unlike John to simply ignore him. 

"Where are you going? Who texted you? Why did you have that look on your face?" He demanded. 

He listened closely as the water was turned on and John undressed. When he heard him step into the shower and pull the curtain closed he walked in. 

"I'm wearing clothes again. You went to see Lestrade last time because I wasn't wearing clothes. You don't have to leave. I'm wearing so many clothes I'm hot. I've got socks on for God's sake!" He said with growing agitation. 

"I'm not leaving because of you, Sherlock, but if you don't let me have my shower in peace I just might change my reasoning." John said as he drew a flannel under the spray and rubbed soap across it. 

"What if I had plans for you tonight?" Sherlock asked, now crossing his arms and tapping his right foot, a clear sign that he was about to storm off. 

"You should have told me if you'd made plans. Don't be so possessive, it's off-putting." John replied, voice belying his smirk. 

"I'm not being possessive, I'm being me. Are you saying I'm off-putting?" He demanded, voice higher and filled with tension. 

"Leave. I'm taking a shower and you're being a creep. I'll talk to you when I get out." John replied sternly as he lathered up his hair. 

Sherlock huffed and walked angrily from the room. If the door was slammed, well that wasn't his fault. John was being selfish, going off on a whim without asking if they had anything to do. He hadn't made plans but the times he really needed John were always the times that weren't planned. If he went out and got drunk with Graham he'd be useless. 

Well, the only thing to do was to take out all the experiments he couldn't do when John was there and get them started. That way he could feel as though he was pushing John away as opposed to John leaving of his own volition. It was childish, yes, but he wasn't above it in the least. 

\-----

Greg stood in his office looking himself over in the small mirror hanging in his closet. He looked tired, even he could tell that, but if he put a bit of product in his hair and changed his wrinkled shirt he might be able to pull it off. Not like John would mind. John understood how hard he worked. John wasn't expecting anything less after a long day. 

He sighed and unbuttoned his shirt, letting it fall open and promising himself he'd get back to football every other week. He wasn't overweight, just not as tight as he used to be. That and the grey hair, Christ, there was a ton of it. He felt old but refused to dwell on it. Instead he grabbed his backup shirt and slipped it on. 

\-----

"I'm just going out for drinks." John said. "And yeah, it's with Greg, but that's no reason for you to be so rabid." 

"Rabid? Rabid? I'm hardly the one running around like a dog in heat. He texts you and you drop your pants!" Sherlock shot back. 

"I took a shower! You do have to be nude for those. Why are you so upset? I thought you'd like that I was dating someone you didn't hate." John said as he averted his eyes from the kitchen table and whatever body parts lays there. 

"I never had reason to hate him...before." Sherlock hissed. 

"Don't. Don't you dare start. I am done with this little tantrum. I'm leaving." John said, grabbing his coat and heading for the door. He stopped short and turned. "I'll be back. I'm not leaving leaving. I'll see you in the morning, yeah?" 

"You're spending the night? What happened to 'having drinks'?" Sherlock hollered. 

John rolled his eyes and walked out the door. 

\-----

The sun was just going down as John walked up to the pub with his jacket slung over his arm. He took a second to look at the skyline before walking through the big glass doors and glancing around. There was a hand on his lower back the second he got to the bar and John looked up to find Greg standing there with a small smile. More than small, just an upturn of the lip. It was almost predatory. John shivered. 

"Evening, doctor." Greg said as he took John's jacket from him. 

John could feel himself blushing. It was ridiculous, he was a grown man. 

"Evening, Greg." He replied, voice a bit lower than he had meant for it to be. 

Greg ordered them drinks, never taking his hand from John, and led John to the back of the pub. They sat in a small corner booth pressed up against each other. Every time someone would walk by Greg would move his hand from John's knee to his shoulder or the hand he had resting on the table by his pint. The utter possessiveness of the of the action had John swooning. 

"How was your day?" Greg asked finally. 

John sipped his drink and played with the mat. "Good. Short day at the clinic. Just some runny noses, nothing important." 

Greg hand tightened on John's knee and the shorter man looked up. 

"You mean nothing critical. Everything you do is important." Greg said, and it obviously wasn't a comment up for discussion. 

John licked his lips and saw Greg watch his tongue as it moved. Just then a tall man, looking at the telly and not his footing, leaned into John and Greg pulled him close, glaring up at the man who apologized and moved along. 

"Let's go back to my place." Greg said as he took the last swig of his pint. 

"Okay." John replied, heat rounding in his belly. 

\-----

The second they were through the door both men were slipping out of there clothes and kissing hard. The whole ride home Greg had gripped John's thigh and they were both so bloody hard it hurt. Grey pulled John down the hall towards the bedroom and shoved him down hard, causing him to bounce and look surprised, something that only spurred Greg on. He pushed John's legs apart and knelt in the space between them. 

"Do you have any idea how hard it was to keep from taking you into the alley and buggering you right there? Hmm? Chirst. If I didn't have a badge I'd 'ave taken you in the men's." Greg growled as he leaned down to lick a fat stripe up John's hard cock. 

John arched his back and gripped the sheets and, once he'd got his voice back, spoke. "I need you to take me." 

Greg looked at him with wide eyes before nodding and going to the side of the bed for lube and a condom. John moved up the bed until his head was resting on a pillow and spread his legs again. Greg climbed onto the bed and flipped John so quickly the doctor, and soldier, barely had time to think. 

"You been tested?" Greg asked as he spread John's arsecheeks. 

"Yeah. I'm clean." John managed in an almost normal voice. 

"Good. Good." Greg said almost absently before regaining his focus. "I'm clean too, got tested last month." 

John was still trying to figure out what he was supposed to say to that when he felt Greg's hot wet tongue on his cleft. 

"Holy Christ!" He hissed as Greg licked down to his hole. 

Greg was wholly unabashed as he licked and suckled the pink nub and massaged John's cheeks. John couldn't help but push his arse back on Greg's face. He was panting and huffing as Greg reached forward and pressed a slick finger in next to his tongue. 

"Fuck!" He shouted into the pillow. 

Greg grinned and turned the finger before pumping it in and out. He waited until John growled more and then added a second finger as he licked the warmth right there. John was pushing himself back with every thrust now and whining indeterminately. 

Greg drew back and pulled his fingers out. "Chirst, I can't wait to get into your hot little hole." he murmured as he tore the condom wrapper open. 

John made a sort of 'ah' sound at that and wriggled his arse. Greg rolled the condom on, added more lube and held his cock still at John's entrance. 

"What do you say, lad? What's the magic word?" Greg asked in a gruff tone. 

"P-please! Oh, fuck, please Greg!" John whimpered without shame. 

Greg sank in an inch and stilled. The stretch was minimal but took John's breath away. Greg massaged his cheeks and pulled out a little before pushing back in further. 

"You're so fucking tight. Oh, hell." Greg mumbled as he watched his length slowly dissappear into John's arsehole. 

John pushed back, a move that found Greg fully seated in him at last, and moaned loudly. He went silent as Greg started to pull out and push back in. He set up an almost lazy rhythm and John felt one fat drop of precome fall to the bed. He wanted to touch his prick but he didn't know if he was allowed, something he found pretty ridiculous, yet true. 

"Christ, you're gorgeous. Fucking hell. Oh, God, such a sweet little hole." Greg cursed. 

"Please. Oh. Oh. Oh, fuck." John mumbled. 

"Tell me what you need, sweetheart. Come on now, tell me." Greg said as he picked up speed. 

"Touch me." John said, breath coming in hard little puffs. 

Greg grinned and reached below him to encircle his cock and pull. He was glad to be gripping John's hip with his other hand as this caused John to almost collapse to the bed. 

"God, yes! This is exactly what you needed, isn't it? You didn't just need sex, you needed a real good pounding! You needed someone to FUCK you!" Greg rambled as he jerked John's prick and sank into him over and over again. 

"Yes! Please! Fuck me! Fucking take it!" John growled, tight heat pooling in his belly as his bollocks drew up tight. 

"Fucking come!" Greg shouted. 

John's eyes rolled back in his head and he started to come. "Ah. Ah. Ah. Ah. Ah." 

Greg picked up speed and nearly folded himself in half as he jammed his cock into John as fast as he could. The tightening of that wet passage sent him over the edge and he bit his own lip as he buried himself deep and filled the condom with come, John slack below him. 

\-----

It was probably only minutes later, as the come on the bed below him was only beginning to cool, when Greg pulled off of him and left the room. He came back with a warm wet flannel and rolled John onto his back. 

"Look at you." Greg said. "You've made quite the mess." 

John hummed in agreement but refused to open his eyes. Greg kissed his hip and cleaned him up before doing a perfect hospital bed sheet change and laying down next to John on the newly clean bed. 

"What time do you have to be up in the morning?" He asked. 

John reached out and pulled him closer, burying his face in Greg's neck. What he said could have been nine or five. 

"Nine?" Greg's asked. 

John nodded and Greg's ran a hand through his hair. 

"I've gotta be up at eight. I'll leave the key for you and let you sleep in." He said as he kissed the side of John's face. 

"Mmmm. Okay." John murmured before falling into a deep sleep.


End file.
